


Absolutely One Hundred Percent Neil-Patrick-Harris-French-Kissing-Ricky-Martin Gay

by sian1359



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Slice of Life, retrospection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 22:12:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17030931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sian1359/pseuds/sian1359
Summary: Clint reflects on the meaning of Christmas





	Absolutely One Hundred Percent Neil-Patrick-Harris-French-Kissing-Ricky-Martin Gay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Title and queer theory attributed to Natasha comes from Vulture's December 13, 2016 article: _The Gay Subtext of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer_.

 

Clint Barton had a love-hate relationship with Christmas. He'd never really had much experience with one, so mostly what he knew about it was what he'd seen in movies, television, and from those magazines that lined the check-out counter at the grocery stores.

Sure, he must have believed in Santa Claus once, because even now, as a grown-ass adult, he still remembered being crushed when his father had told him Santa wouldn't come to them anymore, because Santa didn't give packages to little bastards. Losing his parents hadn't changed Christmas much for him; even the few times he was given a present, Barney or one of the other kids also stuck in the group homes usually took it – or broke it – and fancy meals and decorations cost money, something not even the adults around Clint seemed to have much of.

Later with the circus, and even after he'd struck out on his own, Christmas was still mostly a thing Clint saw other people celebrating. By the time he had enough money to make such frivolous expenditures there wasn't anyone to celebrate the holidays with. That finally changed once he joined and found his place with SHIELD, but most of Clint's co-workers had their own families and traditions, and Clint hated being that awkward plus one. Getting invited along to someone else's celebration might not have always come out of pity, but that was just what good people did. Clint quickly found that the easiest thing to give the people he liked was time off so they could go home. Volunteering to take someone else's shift or mission became Clint's thing at Christmas time, though he also got pretty damn good at following those magazine cookie recipes.

As far as the Jesus end of the holiday, well, Clint had been exposed to a variety of interpretations of God while growing up, but mostly he'd seen religion as just more adults to disappoint, whether they were there in the flesh judging him, or watching him up in heaven. He'd gained a better understanding of religion as he grew older, and could even see how many people found strength and comfort in their faith, but by then Clint had had his own faith and trust broken and betrayed too many times to offer it freely. He'd also seen the way too many religious leaders could twist their followers into thinking unspeakable acts were acceptable. If God existed, Clint preferred that they both continued to ignore each other.  Giving selflessly or sacrificing with no expectation of a reward was a good code of behavior to try and follow whether Jesus was the motivating factor or not.

Of course, a lot of Clint's actions fell under that code only in the context of the much wider picture. He was well aware that most people would view killing someone as at least a failure if not also a sin, even when done for the greater good, but as long as he had people like Phil Coulson helping to make the decision on who he pulled the trigger on, Clint figured even God would understand. And if God didn't, well, it wasn't like Clint wasn't already going to Hell. Better someone like Clint to do what needed to be done, than let the sheep be slaughtered, or the good people have to blacken their own souls.

Clint still counted himself lucky that today's mission wasn't an assassination. He wasn't superstitious (well, not about dates), or all that often filled with guilt over his job (not that he didn't have regrets), but killing someone on Christmas Eve ruined it for more than just his target or himself. Witnesses, if there were any, and if not family or at least someone who knew the target, someone else stumbled over the body; some poor civilian who ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time. Then, too, the first responders and medical professionals brought in, and even Clint's co-workers in the field and back at base who monitored and logged all field ops. It was hard enough to go from dealing with a death to returning to other normal routines or going home to loved ones, without also having the anticipation of Christmas at the same time.

No, today Clint was only expecting to freeze his ass off out here in East Bumfuck, Ontario, not even on the mission as a sniper or look-out, but as the primary helicopter pilot for a SHIELD assault team. A home-grown terrorist cell had decided hiding out in Amish country was a good idea.  If everything went to plan, the team would be in and out in a couple of hours and on their way back to New York while the Mounties handled clean-up and booking, with everyone home in time to leave cookies and milk for Santa at the latest.

Phil and Natasha were still out on their own mission and not due back for a couple more days, so Clint hadn't hesitated to say yes when Rumlow had asked if he'd fly the bird for the strike team; he still volunteered to take an extra shift or two during Christmas week despite finally having people to celebrate with, and much preferred doing those shifts which involved something other than paperwork. (Although the two days he'd spent with Melinda May a few years back had been totally worth the papercuts and ink all over his fingers; that was a woman who could tell stories, especially about Coulson.) Clint also loved piloting anything that took to the air, didn't mind Rumlow's guys (even if they thought they were a better strike team than Delta), and if everything really went as expected, he should even be able to take a little time to do some additional shopping once the team had the terrorists under control.

Clint kept track of the op, listening in on the command channel from his seat in the copter, keeping the transport set and ready for any sort of emergency extract that could end up getting called in. Rumlow's team knew how to do their jobs, though – or these terrorists weren't so dedicated to their cause to martyr themselves – so in just a little over two hours, Clint heard the last of the tangos being subdued and then the call for the local law enforcement to come on in. In the ten or so minutes it would take the Mounties and guest FBI agents to make their way from the command post, the strike team would toss the area for any intel or ordinance better taken into the hands of SHIELD, and for any stragglers (which is why Clint hadn't let down his own guard yet).

But the team found no surprises, so while Rumlow and Rollins made nice with the local LEOs, Clint finally got a chance to stretch his legs. He volunteered to make contact with the local civilian authorities to no protest since Rumlow thought that was a crap job and his attitude spilled over to the rest of his men.  Clint certainly didn't mind, even when he didn't have an ulterior motive; he'd always been pretty good at getting townies to, if not trust him, at least think that he was harmless. He was also the only one of the team wearing light tactical body armor and only a single visible handgun, so he looked, if not harmless, at least significantly less dangerous than the others.

After assuring the town leaders the threat to their community, as well as the disruption, was just about over, Clint (or maybe more his money, but that was okay), was welcomed into the local general store, where he ended up getting jars of smoked pickled eggs and candied jalapeno BBQ sauce for Jasper, Hibiscus and Holiday Spice teas for Melinda, Izzy, and Maria, and then really cool, hand-crafted, wooden slingshots for Natasha, Fury, _and_ himself.  He also found a dark cherry hickory glider rocker that would look great in the corner of Phil's bedroom by the window – though he told the strike team he bought it for himself, and if one of them broke or even scratched it, he was going to do reciprocal damage to their bodies, when he carried it back to the helicopter with his other purchases.

Of course, seeing the things that Clint had found had a couple of the guys wanting to do a little last minute shopping themselves, so in the end, Clint made it home much closer to midnight than he'd expected, not that it mattered.  The cabby helped him get the rocker out intact, and even waited until Clint made it up the stoop and unlocked the door to Phil's brownstone before taking off; it seemed as if even New York City cabbies felt the spirit of Christmas.  

Clint wasn't going to try and wrap the rocker. By the time he decided he'd go ahead and take it into the bedroom instead of putting it by the small tree Phil had insisted they put up, he'd also decided to forgo a big red bow, though certainly that was what the tv ads implied he should do.  Instead, he _unwrapped_ the package he'd painstakingly wrapped just that morning, a pillow he'd found designed to replicate Captain America's shield, along with a companion quilt he'd commissioned to go with it. He adorned the chair with both to make it look like they had always been there. Cheesy, but Phil would make Clint feel like he had actually resurrected Captain America for Phil in his appreciation, no matter how lousy the gift. This time Clint was pretty secure in his selections and looking forward to Phil's show of gratitude.

Although Phil always said Clint's trust and love was the only gift he ever needed, and certainly Clint felt he'd never get anything greater himself, it was still nice to give and get something tangible too.

Tired, but not yet ready to sleep, Clint moved back out into the living room and found a radio station playing Christmas carols that he set on low, then turned on the tree and turned off the rest of the lights.

Christmas was a celebration of love. It might have come to him much later in life than it did for most people, from a found family instead of the one he was born with, and he might not know all of the traditions, but between the Grinch and Linus, and then Natasha and Phil, he'd sussed out the important bits.

And then there was Natasha's Queer Theory dissection of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

\- finis –

 


End file.
